Church Bells, Blue Hat - - Another Day Goes into the Books.

 

Look around, and quickly get into trouble.

Had to go to Brico Marche again yesterday. Oh, my walk to this fine hardware store was occasioned by the need for two metal washers.  Why did I need washers you may wonder?  

 

Furnishing this place has relied in equal parts Ikea and Francie’s scouring FB Marketplace for stuff like irons, toasters, etc.  As a result of her efforts, we have acquired a variety of appliances and one really cool chandelier. Early on we purchased a small ‘Weber-style’ grill on Marketplace.  With our first guest coming today it was kind of import to get loose ends taken care of and assembling the grill was definitely a loose end.

 

These Marketplace purchases are made kind of like what dope deals were handled in the 1970s according to what I have been told.  You set up a place on neutral ground hopefully near a metro stop and you bring cash.  Sometimes the item is in its original packaging, sometimes not.  You are given a quick moment to inspect the item.  Then you hand over the cash and you head down your respective paths from the meeting spot.

 

What we got from the seller of the grill was a large cardboard box. Inside were the assembly instructions (thank goodness there was an English version amongst twenty other languages) and all of the parts to assemble the grill save two washers. The two small metal rings were needed as part of the handle assembly for moving the grill from one spot to the other. Off I went to Brico.  Thankfully, the parts were there.  Mission accomplished

 

Walking home I began to think about the reality of Portugal as a country filled with churches.  Almost at every crossroads there seems to be a parish church.  In the cities, some cities like Braga and Guimaraes, there are so many churches.  At Braga the bells are constantly ringing, it seems like each carillon is set to its own unique calculation of the time.

 

This country of churches thing crossed my mind as I walked through a park, and then down the broad avenue, both of which I must traverse to get home to my apartment. Passing in front of stores and outdoor cafes I thought it sad that I never heard church bells in a country filled with so many churches.  

When I got home, I assembled the grill.  Putting that thing together was a bugger. Poof, fifty minutes of my life gone and a new array of curses created by the blending of old familiar compound profanities with the word waffle. I am not good with printed instructions as you can see by this photo of an Ikea step stool I tried to assemble Monday.

 

At 6:30 pm (1830) I rolled the grill out onto the deck.  The sunlight was golden as I moved it into place.  Lo and behold the bells of Sao Sebastiao were clearly and distinctly starting to chime. Those chimes were quite lovely.  Me, I took this as a reward for faith and perseverance in putting together that darn grill. Hearing those bells peals erased a sad longing for me.

As to the blue hat.  When you wander about the city people know you are American.  They just know.  Part of this is probably attributable to our weight.  Part of it might be due to the fact that there are very few 5 feet 10-inch-tall women in this city.  Part of it is also clothing. The fabrics here are different.  The styles are different.  The colors are different.

 

Over the past month the average daytime high temperature has been hovering between 55 and 60F.  I wear a down west and a hoodie or a sweatshirt and I am comfortable.  Nobody here has a down vest, they all have puffer jackets, long wool coats or parkas. The down west just stands out screaming, “He is not from here.” About the only thing I have that seems possibly in step with local fashion are my Merrill Moab II shoes.

 

Well Monday night Francie and I went to look for some odds and ends at the local department store.  We didn’t find what we wanted so we decided to wander about.  I asked for a trip to the men’s shoe department.  Herringbone parquet floors are visually striking.  However, these interlocking pieces of highly polished wood are rather cool on my bare feet in the morning.  I was looking for slippers that might fit my really high arches. No luck at the price point I was willing to accept.  We turned to go.

 

There it was, the promotions table filled with scarves and fedoras.  Grey, black and blue fedoras were arrayed so as to catch the eye.  I picked up the blue one almost instinctually. Dropping it on my head and turning toward a mirror I knew I would be making a purchase.  

 

For whatever reason blue is a very common color worn by business people is this part of Lisboa.  At a seminar I attended two out of four speakers wore blue suits.  When I met with a banker on my initial visit here, he was wearing a blue suit. Putting those facts together with the sheer number of fedoras I see worn out and about at rush hour, it just seemed purchasing the hat and dropping it on my head was a natural first step to my fashion integration with Portugal.

 

Now the next day I was sitting in the self-serve lavandaria wearing my hat and drying a bunch of towels to ensure our guest wouldn’t be bothered by our cooties. An elderly gentleman approached me from off of the street.  Speaking rapidly in Portuguese he attempted to sell me a set of kitchen knives he had pulled from under his coat. Think what you will but I think it was my hat that cued him that I might speak Portuguese and might be interested in his knives.